Loretta looked beyond Lacy and then replied quietly, “I have.”
Lacy looked behind her to see what Loretta was interested in and, not surprisingly, there were two handsome young men seated farther down the counter. She turned back and gave her a wry smile. “What are you up to, Loretta Flynn?”
She lowered her eyes, her lashes thick with black mascara, her lids a shimmery aquamarine. “Oh, you know me, Lacy,” she replied bashfully and reached for her coke. “I can’t help but admire handsome young men.”
Lacy laughed. “And you’re not fibbing! Other than Jeremiah, I’ve never seen you so much as peep at a man more than twenty-five-years old.”
Aunt Frannie breezed out of the kitchen toting a large white bag in her arms. “Hey, sugar!” she called out to Lacy.
“Hi, Aunt Frannie!” Lacy waved eagerly.
Frannie made her way around a waitress, currently wiping the counter near the boys, and deposited her bag on the counter before Lacy. “Fried chicken and mashed potatoes, complete with a side of fried okra and black-eyed peas.”
Lacy squealed. “You always knew my favorites!” Frannie eyed Loretta and Lacy promptly introduced her. “Aunt Frannie, this is my friend, Loretta. She’s from Atlanta. Loretta, this is my aunt,” she finished, feeling a swell of pride that filled her entire chest.
Loretta stuck out a slender hand, her nails long and glossy red. “Pleased to meet you.”
Frannie shook hands and said, “Likewise.”
“She’s Jeremiah’s girlfriend,” Lacy informed her, surprised by the abrupt cooling to her aunt’s demeanor. Then it dawned on her. Annie was angry about the Jeremiah thing and so was Aunt Frannie. Lacy frowned. How could she be so thick-headed and forget?
“Jeremiah’s girlfriend?” Frannie asked.
“Yes.”
Loretta exchanged a glance with Lacy, as though realizing this was not good news.
Frannie glanced down the counter to the young boys sitting at the other end, then back to Loretta. To Lacy, she said, “Your food’s gonna get cold, honey. You best be gettin’ it home.”
“Oh, I don’t mind cold fried chicken,” Lacy replied. “I actually prefer it.”
“Yes, well...” Her aunt’s gaze lingered on Loretta, as though contemplating something important. But if she had something to say, she kept it to herself. “Lacy, sugar, if you want any pie, help yourself to one in the case. I don’t have any at home.”
“Thank you. I might do that!”
As Frannie excused herself and returned to the kitchen, Loretta muttered, “She don’t like me none, does she?”
“Aw, it’s not you, Loretta. It’s Jeremiah they don’t like.”
“On account of he left town?”
Lacy shook her head. “No. He had a thing with my sister back in high school and she got pregnant.”
“Jerry has a child?” Her eyes rounded. “He never told me that.”
“He doesn’t think it’s his.”
“Do you?” Loretta asked.
“Oh, I don’t know.” She dismissed the question as easily as if Loretta had asked her the time of day. “It’s none of my business. My sister Annie wouldn’t tell me the truth one way or another, anyhow. She hates me.”
“Why?”
“She thinks I ran off with her boyfriend.”
“You mean Jerry?”
Lacy nodded. “But I swear I didn’t think they were still together. I never really thought they were boyfriend and girlfriend to begin with.” She peeked into the bag of food, the warm moist aroma saturating her nostrils. Her stomach rumbled.
Loretta sipped from her coke, appearing to absorb the information. She cast another glance toward the boys, a small smile forming on her lips.
Lacy turned and this time studied the boys more fully. She had to hand it to Loretta. She had good taste. And twins! While they didn’t look a day over eighteen, and barely legal, they certainly were handsome with sexy brown eyes and brown hair, strong builds, though the farther one was more natural. The closer boy was bigger, his muscles obviously developed from lifting weights. Lacy’s gaze tickled around his biceps, dropping to the hard line of his thigh in close-fitted jeans. Definitely cute. But much too young for her liking. She preferred older men, always had. Lacy turned back to Loretta. “You’re not trying to pick them up, are you?”
Loretta quickly shook her head. “Course not.”
Through the server’s window, Lacy saw that her aunt was keeping an eye on her and Loretta. Something told her it was because Loretta was flirting with those two boys and Lacy would bet her Aunt Frannie knew them. Probably watching them like a hawk, ready to report back to their parents. Whatever, Lacy mused. It wasn’t her problem.
Pushing up from the seat, she grabbed her bag of food. “It’s good to see you, Loretta, but I need to get going.”
Loretta nodded. “You too, Lacy.”
“Maybe I’ll see you later?” she asked, hoping she would. Loretta was one of the few friendly faces around, and it would be nice to visit with someone who cared enough to be with her. “There’s a night spot called Whiskey Joe’s that might be fun.”
“Really?”
“It’s not like anything we have in Atlanta, but it’s been around forever. Used to have great live music for dancing.”
Loretta perked at the mention as Lacy knew she would. Between the two of them, they’d often cut a line dance or two after working the lounge, and Whiskey Joe’s was the only place in town for dancing. “That would be nice,” Loretta replied, “though I’m not sure what my schedule will be.” She ventured another peek at the boys and Lacy wondered again at her friend’s intentions. “But who knows?” She smiled broadly. “Anything’s possible.”
Lacy nodded, the bag growing warm within her arms. “Okay. Well, have fun, whatever you do.” She waved goodbye to her aunt back in the kitchen and headed out. Fun was something Lacy wanted to have too—and would—right after she moved into her aunt’s home and devoured this delicious food.
Chapter Six
Malcolm’s instincts were humming as he pulled into the parking lot for Whiskey Joe’s. A small establishment, it was far from his normal swank—LA clubs with modern interiors, artsy lighting and filled with beautiful people—but it would do, especially if the woman in question could be found inside. According to Nick, this was the place to be. From what he saw around town, it was the only place to be.
Which made his quest simple. One lady, one bar, that’s what he called easy pickings.
Parking his rental truck, Malcolm strolled inside. Struck by the stale smoky smell, he realized the non-smoking trend had not reached this part of Tennessee. Scanning the interior for sight of the black-headed beauty, he browsed a wooden dance floor surrounded by a deep maroon carpet flecked with beige. Wooden high-top tables lined the perimeter, their surfaces sleek and pleasing to the eye. A group of young ladies crowded around one set nearest the floor. Dressed in skirts and boots, they had styled their hair to salon perfection, applied cosmetics like a work of artistry. He raised a brow. A few looked barely legal but totally gorgeous.
Malcolm chuckled to himself. Far be it from him to alert the authorities. He’d rather enjoy the view, although he was disappointed that view didn’t include Lacy. Granted the half dozen females in house were attractive, but they weren’t the one he was looking for. A few older men sat hunched over the bar as he ambled up, flagging the bartender. The bar back was mirrored in good old-fashioned saloon-style, the selection of alcohol fairly adequate from what he could discern. A clean-cut cowboy hurried over to him and smiled. “What’ll it be, mister?”
“Scotch.” He surveyed the bottles lining the wall behind the bar, searching for his preferred brand. “You have Macallan?”
The man shook his head. “Johnny Walker.”
Malcolm nodded. It would have to do. “On the rocks with a splash of water, please.”
“Yes sir, coming right up.”
Leaning a hip against the bar, Malcolm turne
d and settled his gaze on the women clustered around the table. He hitched a heel up behind him and wondered how many of the girls were interested in companionship, or were they out for a girls’ night of gossip. With few men to speak of, he didn’t see a lot of hooking up to be had, but perhaps that kicked in later. He heard the plunk a glass behind him.
“Thanks,” Malcolm said with a tip of his head. Lifting the drink to his lips, he treated his senses to the blended Scotch whiskey, detecting a hint of spice. One eye securely wrapped around the table of women, he enjoyed the liquid gliding across his tongue, fanning through his veins. The brand wasn’t as mellow as he was accustomed to and had none of the oak flavor, but it hit the spot all the same. In the two weeks since Nick had dragged him halfway across the continent, Malcolm lacked the comfort of his usual amenities, the luxury lifestyle and the company of his current squeeze, an auburn siren of the utmost beauty and skill. Nick had insisted he was needed on site. Yet instead of designing, brainstorming and completing the project at hand, he was chasing down possible court challenges and side-stepping family feuds. He shook his head and sipped. He should be on the streets of LA tonight entertaining the ladies of Southern California or carousing among the corridors of his favorite casino in Vegas, not stalking a table of fresh-faced innocents in the hills of Tennessee.
Malcolm turned from the ladies. Staring at girls so young made him feel like a bit of a lech. Course it was still early. It was possible Lacy would still show. Tossing back another sip of whiskey, he pondered what he’d learned so far. Nick was right on the money with Ladd Springs. After a guided tour from Delaney, he was sold. The place was amazing. Acres and acres of pristine beauty filled with natural wonder and quiet—it was exactly what Harris Hotel guests were seeking. Rivers and streams were clean and clear, the trails wooded and private, but the springs were the clincher. Nick was right. They could definitely develop those to increase the hotel’s allure. Where Nick had talked about the wishing well, a sort of fountain of youth, Malcolm envisioned spring water showers and tubs, steam baths that permeated the senses with the finest water Mother Nature had to offer. He’d already decided on how he wanted to incorporate the hotel into the land, creating walls of river rock, recessed lighting that would make guests feel as if they were hidden away within the mountain. Floor to ceiling windows would bring the outdoors in, and of course, a palette of earthy tones that paralleled nature would adorn the interior. He smiled inwardly. The place would scream seclusion, clandestine romance.
Intuition clicked. Malcolm turned his head slow and easy and, to his delight, found one Lacy Owens sliding onto a stool at a high-top in the corner. Well, look who’s here...
Pleasure danced low in his midsection. Spying the half-empty low ball on the table before her, he sharpened his focus on the brown liquid inside. Bourbon drinker? Desire drummed. Taking another sip of scotch, he watched Lacy settle in and waited for her to recognize him.
When she caught his eye, surprise flickered in her expression. A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth, but she glanced away. Did she have mixed feelings about him? After all, he was a friend of Delaney Wilkins and Delaney was no friend of hers. But certainly she had grasped the signs of his interest this afternoon at the diner. Was she playing hard to get?
He savored a private grin. Game on, my dear.
Malcolm raised his glass to Lacy and she acknowledged him but didn’t return the gesture. Instead, she pulled out a cigar and lighter. Curiosity flared hot inside him as he watched her bite off the cap, dip the end into her mouth and light up. She gave a few quick puffs and the tobacco blazed orange-red. Sitting back in her chair, she crossed her legs, inhaled deeply and blew the smoke free in one, steady stream.
Dropping his gaze to her legs, Malcolm noted the shapely calves, her arch in the black high heels, the very black, very high heels. Wandering up, he noted her skirt was straight, simple and short—just the way he preferred—and black as night, same as her low cut, sleeveless blouse. He imagined her underclothing to be just as black and entirely lacy. The pun struck him with added appeal. Lacy in lace. Malcolm brought glass to lips, allowing his gaze to ingest the sight of her. Most definitely an appealing combination.
Apparently pleased by his undivided attention, Lacy brought the cigar to her lips, methodically enclosing them over the tip as she stared at him. Lingering, she didn’t inhale, only nibbled, toyed with it, her gaze locked onto his. She withdrew the cigar from her mouth, but not too far, and smiled fully at him, fingerlings of smoke swirling around her head.
It required little effort for him to return the favor. Yes, Ms. Owens. You have my attention. The nearby table of women erupted in laughter. Lacy inhaled again, rolling an eye toward them as if thoroughly bored by their presence. Malcolm chuckled. It was probably true. The women sitting at the table all looked the same. From their long straight hair to their skirts and boots, it looked to him as if they coordinated their outfits for the evening. There didn’t seem to be an individual among them. Lacy, on the other hand, was pure distinction. Her short-cropped black hair shone in the dim lighting, the blue of her eyes punctuated her fair skin even from a distance. Her shapely body competed for his attention, and Malcolm imagined what she would look like on the sheets beneath him. The image stirred deep within his loins.
Lacy held the cigar away from her face and took a prim sip from her drink. Neat, tidy, her movements were those of a dancer. The connection struck him. Was Lacy a dancer?
He’d wondered how she made it in a big city like Atlanta. According to Delaney, Lacy had only been seventeen when she left, and it wasn’t as if Jeremiah had pockets full of money. How did she survive? Did she dance for a living? She had to have done something to pay the bills.
Lacy returned her attention to him and Malcolm pushed off from the bar and headed over. Time to find out. Rewarded by the bump in her gaze, he was heartened to realize she was interested in his approach. But how interested was the more important question. Malcolm neared and delivered smoothly, “Ms. Owens...so nice to see you again.”
“Mr. Ward.”
As she reached for her hand, she obliged, lifting it from the table for his taking. Lacy cocked her head to one side and watched him bow slightly, placing his lips to her skin for a kiss. Her scent reminded Malcolm of jasmine and spice. Intoxicating. Gliding his lips back and forth, he treated himself to the sensation of silken skin and luscious perfume before she pulled free. She encircled her hand around her glass as though curtailing any further ideas on his part.
Which amused him. Standing fully, he asked, “What’s a beautiful woman like you sitting alone in a bar on a Friday night?”
Lacy’s smile dipped, but quickly recovered. “I’m enjoying a little quiet time.”
“Quiet time?” He glanced around the lounge, purposefully touching upon the dance floor. Two couples entered the bar, the women chatting busily while the men brought up the rear in silence. “From the looks of this place, quiet is the last thing I’d expect.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “but the real carrying on doesn’t start until much later.”
“Ah.” He nodded, fascinated by the spark in her eye. It had the mark of intelligence, yet the zeal of youth. Lined in a soft navy, her eyes were sultry, enticing. “You don’t dance?” Malcolm asked, coating his tone with disappointment.
She giggled. “I love to dance!” Then, as if she realized her breach, walked the comment back a notch. She dropped her gaze back to the cigar in hand, tapping the ashes into an ashtray. “But I’m not in the mood,” she said, then cast her gaze downward.
“Not in the mood? With legs like yours, that seems like a crime.”
Lacy flipped up her line of thick lashes and replied, “It’s my first day back in town and I haven’t received the warmest of welcomes.”
“From Delaney?” he asked.
“Yes...” she murmured, as though Delaney was only a secondary concern.
“Your sister?”
Curiosity transformed her caution
. “You know Annie?”
“Not personally, but I’ve heard about her.”
“Of course,” Lacy said, turning away from him, focusing on the cigar in hand. “You were with Delaney today.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, not really,” she said, continuing to reflect on her cigar. She brought it to her mouth for another drag. This time, she closed her eyes as she inhaled.
Studying her soft features, her flawless ivory skin, her artfully applied makeup, Malcolm wondered if she was willfully shutting him out. Had he overstayed his welcome? Was it guilt by association?
Delaney was clearly not fond of Lacy. Was the feeling mutual? “Actually, I don’t know Delaney all that well. She’s a friend of my friend, Nick.”
Lacy acknowledged that she heard but continued to stare past him.
“Are you on shaky ground with your sister?”
She flashed a glance to him, the first sign of displeasure licking at her fiery blue eyes. “Shaky isn’t the word. More like icy.”
At least he had her talking. “I hear you,” Malcolm commiserated. “I have a brother and it’s the same thing.”
Sitting straighter, Lacy swiveled on her seat to face him fully. “You do?”
“Nothing I do seems good enough for him. Success, money, none of it matters.”
She knit black brows together. “What do you do that he doesn’t approve of?”
“I’m in the hotel business with Nick. Remember?”
She perked to life. “Do you have one here?”
“We hope to.”
Several young men pushed through the front door, a ring of rowdy banter following them as they entered. They immediately scouted for a place to sit. No surprise they chose the table next to the high-top full of women. Malcolm watched the men make their way over, eyes roving over the females as they approached.
Lacy appeared confused. “Hope to?”
Malcolm brought scotch to mouth as he pondered her sudden interest. “That’s why I’m here. Nick and are I looking at the Ladd Springs property to build our next hotel.”
Ladd Fortune Page 6